Possession
by XFahmzX
Summary: "A single glance is all it takes for me to dutifully remove my dress; leaving me fully open to his hungry, dark gaze..."  A chilling story of dementia and manipulation that plays cruel games with the mind.  Rated M for Lemons and Disturbing Content.


**Hey Guysss! It's moi...AGAIN :D**  
><strong>So this is a chilling story that you'll have to read all the way through to dig out the prominent truth.<strong>

**Hope you guys like it :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Trilogy. But thanks to for introducing the characters, and Fanfiction for allowing me to play around with 'em! (Y)**

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><p>7:00am.<p>

Not a minute before or after. 7:00am on the dot. My eyes fly wide open. It's another day.  
>I stare at the ceiling for exactly 11 seconds. On some days I extend it to another 10 seconds, but I'm always careful not to let this luxury run for more than a minute. I can't let it happen, because it'll ruin my expectant plan for the day.<p>

And besides - He won't like it.

I get out of bed in a robotic fashion and eventually finish my bathroom duties. 7:30am.  
>Perfect, I'm on time.<br>Every morning, one thing pervades my mind – Will I be able to improve fixing the bed compared to the previous morning? Can I smooth down the bumps of the duvet today? Will I finally be able to master this duty so that I can please him?  
>I never do find out the answers.<p>

7:40am on the dot I'm due to serve his breakfast. It's now 7:35am. That leaves me 5 minutes to get dressed. I comb my wet, wavy hair and then choose a cream cotton dress and matching stockings with a white woollen cardigan and flat black shiny shoes to complete the look.  
>I'm all prepared and ready to go, but I never leave the room without one thing – Red Lipstick.<p>

As I walk down the staircase, each stair creaks beforehand. It may be my imagination, but it's difficult to use that as an excuse when you see it happening every day. But I have to use that excuse. I have no choice. I'm not allowed a choice.  
>I see him through the gap between each bar of the staircase. He has his smart clothing on, ready for another day of work. I quickly descend the stairs, light on my toes so that he's not disturbed. As I reach the kitchen he does not look my way or even greet me. He never does. He carries on reading the newspaper that he firmly clenches in his hands; His knuckles whitening, his perfect nails digging into his palms. It's all routine so I'm not offended in the least. I swiftly move across the kitchen to prepare for his breakfast of buttered toast and a cup of strong coffee. The heavy sense of tension is present in the room as I wait for the bread to pop out of the toaster. Sometimes my thoughts are daring – I sometimes hope that the toast would pop out like an exited spring and hit one of us smack on the face. At least it'll be a change of scene for once. At least the prospect of it would bring a smile on one of our faces, and if luck allows it – maybe a slight chuckle to lighten the mood. Ha. Ha.<br>Oh right – Too early to make jokes.

As I lay it down in front of him, I seat myself down right opposite him. While my hand fidgets with the other out of nerves, his finishes his breakfast in one rapid, sharp motion. I sometimes wonder how he does that, but quickly wave the thoughts away as he may be listening to them. I know the ability to read people's mind is non-existent, but it could be possible. He owns my thoughts.  
>He owns me. ...No. Stop. I've said too much already.<p>

He wipes his hard mouth with a napkin before getting up. As he does, he makes his way towards me. It's nothing new. I know exactly what will happen, so I prepare myself. It's part of the plan you see.  
>He places his strong hands on my tiny waist and swiftly lifts me onto the table. He doesn't fumble, or make any mistakes, but neatly unfastens his belt to pull down his trousers. I know very well by now not to intervene by helping him undo his buttons, or even by pulling up my dull dress and pushing down my light stockings. Instead, my head is tilted up and my eyes are fixed at the jars on the top shelf. I'm thinking about my handwriting on the labels of the jar. Could I have written it any better? I could've curled the top line of my 'S', since now it's on the verge of looking like a '5', or I could've drawn the line of my 'D' straighter. As all these thoughts go through my head, he has already taken out his throbbing hard cock, spread my legs wide open and pushed it inside my very core. His rhythm is slow yet sharp as he thrusts back and forth, all the while having a firm grip on my waist and his head over my shoulder. His breath came out jaggedly, as if in a state where there is a shortage of oxygen. I observe how he's careful not to touch me any other way, just like any other day. While my hands are rigidly by his hands, yet not touching them, my head tilts to the side in wonder – Did I remember to tighten the taps after finishing my shower? Were there any drops of water on the mirror as a result of the heat? Better go check after he finishes with me.<br>But truth is; He'll never finish with me.

After he's reached a climax, he waits for a few seconds – exactly 5 seconds – before retrieving his flaccid cock and putting back his boxers and trousers on. I'm still seated on the table with the hem of my dress a pool around my waist and my fragile stocking torn and collected around my ankles. He finishes dressing himself, snatches his briefcase and walks out of the door, all performed without a single glance thrown at me. I'm not offended at all because it's routine. I hear the slam of the front door and that is moment when my contracted muscles begin to relax, and I let out a long sigh. I get off the wooden table and fix myself.

A single, abandoned tear drops from the corner of my eye and onto the table.  
>I truly wonder where that came from.<p>

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><p><strong>I'd like some reviews, because I'm not sure if it's a good story to actually carry on writing about. But your assurance is all that would be needed for me to start up again! So be sure to leave a review. It can be about anything you like - Praises, constructive critism, want to see more of this story, etc. All reviews are appreciated. ;)<strong>

**Fahmida **


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